Sunday, 12 February 2017

Weekend in Amsterdam Chapter Two

Retracing my steps I passed a couple of
cinemas along the way, and wondered which film Godfrey had chosen to watch. The western
Shalako was playing at the first one, while the science fiction film Barbarellawas playing at another. I’d heard that Jane Fonda did astriptease in the film Barbarella,while Brigitte Bardot, who co-starred in
Shalako, was in my opinion the sexiestwoman on the
planet. I wondered should I go to the cinema, as I wasn’t enjoying myself in Amsterdam, but I decided against it as I only had a limited amount of time to spend in
Amsterdam, and I could go to the
cinema anytime.

On the Damrak, and not far from my
hotel, I discovered a bar with music and the sound of people’s chatter and
laughing coming from within. I attempted to peer through the window, but my
view was blocked by a heavy, burgundy coloured curtain, supported on a heavy brass
pole. Although I stood on tiptoe in an attempt to peer over the curtain, which
was supported half way up the window frame, I failed to see inside, which should
have served as a deterrent, but it didn't.

Taking pot luck
I entered the bar and found myself in a hallway; there I was greeted by a
doorman who spirited away my overcoat for a second time that evening. The bar
was laid out like a house, perhaps it had once been so, with a staircase to my
right, and a hallway leading to a closed door at its far end. Being directed
towards a doorway halfway down the hallway, and to my left, I entered the front
room, only to discover that the crowd scene, along with the music, was all taped,
and except for the barman, and two bar girls who were hustling sailors,
I discovered the room to be empty.

The girls were
employed to boost the bar’s takings, as Greta had done earlier at the nightclub,
and could well have been offering the same personal services. I was relieved to
discover them to be busy, and although I wanted to leave, I ordered a small pilsner to ensure that I was reunited
with my overcoat when I left.

A few minutes
later a man entered the bar, and although the barroom was almost empty, he
chose to sit on a barstool beside me. He was short in stature, late middle
aged, and although his hair had begun to recede at the temples, there were
absolutely no signs of grey; in fact it was a rather unnatural shade of auburn,
and I speculated that it may be dyed. The man’s face looked crumpled, like an
unmade bed, while his waist line had expanded over the years, probably due to
too many nights spent drinking in seedy bars.

He ordered his drink in Dutch, before speaking
to me in perfect English.

“You are from
England, are you not?”

“Yes I am,” I
answered, wondering how this strange little man could possibly have known my
nationality.

“I am from
Russia. My name is Vladimir.”

“Mine’s Ray,” I
answered, and took the proffered hand.

“Do you work in the
Netherlands, or are you here for your pleasure?”

“I’m on my way
to Eindhoven, for work experience.” I
answered. “I’m only staying in Amsterdam
overnight.”

“Pity,” said
Vladimir, “it’s such a lovely city. What kind of work do you do?”

“I work for a
company making components for television and radio sets,” I told him, while
wishing the man would go away and pester someone else.

“Electronics is
the future comrade; Russia is very much in need of young men with technological
knowledge and new ideas.”

I began to feel
uncomfortable in Vladimir’s company, as the cold war was currently at its
height. Films and television were awash with spy stories involving Soviet
agents, and calling me comrade sent a shiver up my spine.

“Why are you in
Amsterdam?” I asked, without really wanting to know the answer to my own question.

Vladimir leaned
forward and whispered into my ear as if it were of national importance. “I am
chief of security at a Soviet radio station here in Amsterdam.”

I pictured a
uniformed security guard at a radio station broadcasting Russian folk songs,
with perhaps a little Soviet propaganda thrown in for good measure, but that interpretation
could not have been further from the truth.

As he leaned
forward the jacket of his brown double breasted suit gaped open, and I caught a
fleeting glimpse of a small calibre handgun beneath his left armpit. The fact
that he wore a firearm convinced me of his diplomatic immunity, which would not
have been necessary had he been a glorified doorman at a radio station broadcasting
folk songs.

The sailors
left the bar, and the bar girls descended on us like vultures. I
was under the impression that I was obligated to buy the girls a drink to avoid
conflict with the management, so I chatted to one of the girls in a friendly
way, while she nuzzled my neck and nibbled at my ear. Vladimir, in contrast,
had no such illusions. He shouted angrily at the girls, who quickly returned to
their seats at the opposite end of the bar. I waited for the fallout from the
doorman, who appeared from the hallway on hearing the commotion. He stared in
our direction, but realising that the Russian was doing the shouting,
he disappeared.

“We are having
such a nice talk,” said Vladimir to explain his outburst. “We do not need to be
interrupted by two silly girls and their inane chatter.”

I agreed with
him out of politeness, although I’d been enjoying the company of the girls far
more than that of Vladimir, which I found to be intimidating, although I
couldn’t explain why.

“You must be
aware that the Soviet Union will eventually annex Western Europe,” Vladimir
continued, as if nothing untoward had taken place.

“It is one land
mass after all, not some foreign land far across the sea like America. This is where the
future of the European countries lies, as part of a unified Soviet Union,
making it the most powerful nation on earth. It would stretch from Vladivostok on
the pacific coast, to Lisbon on the Atlantic coast. Just image the power of
such a nation.

“I think the
Americans might have something to say about the Soviet Union annexing Europe,”
I told him, feeling a little irritated by the arrogance of this ridiculous
little man.

“The Americans
will not be interested in risking a nuclear confrontation to protect Europe. The
Soviet Union will have overtaken the United States in firepower in less than five
years time, and then you will see how much they care about your tiny island.

I felt more than
a little patriotic, and pissed off with Vladimir’s observations.

“The Germans thought they could conquer Europe, but they came unstuck, perhaps the Soviet Union won’t find the annexing of
Europe quite as easy as you seem to think.”

“The Germans
could easily have conquered Europe, if Hitler had not made the same mistake that
Napoleon made over a century earlier,” continued Vladimir confidently.

“By attacking
Russia of course,” answered Vladimir, although he failed to explain that the
terrible winter weather, starvation, and poor logistics had been the major
factors in Napoleon’s defeat on the Russian front.

“Most of Europe
had already surrendered,” he continued, “and your little island would not have
been able to resist the might of the German Reich without Russian assistance.”

“We weren’t
alone,” I continued, bravely trying to fight my corner even though I was far
from an expert on the subject. “We had the Commonwealth countries and the
Americans fighting alongside us.”

“And do you
think that the Americans would have come to your aid if the Japanese had not
bombed Pearl Harbour? Don’t be so naive. Churchill was clever to declare war on
Japan, as America would never have declared war on Germany had he not done so. He
manoeuvred them into the war.

I couldn’t
disagree with his assessment, but I didn’t want the Russian to get the better
of me, so remembering what my father had told me I made my case.

“The Americans
had already come to our aid. Churchill asked Roosevelt for assistance, he was
sympathetic but the American people had no appetite for war, so he came up with
the idea of lease-lend. Russia also benefitted from lease-lend. I seriously
doubt if your country would have been able to contain the Germans on the
Russian front without American armaments.

I think I might
have won that round because he changed the subject.

“That argument
aside, all western politicians are fools, and will be militarily unprepared when
Europe is annexed. Only Enoch Powell has the vision to see the reality of what
it to come, but after his rivers of blood speech he is a discredited man,
branded a racist, and just like Winston Churchill when he warned of the dangers
from Nazi Germany, no one is prepared to take him seriously.”

Vladimir
appeared to have a grudging respect for Powell. I was unaware of any concerns he
may have had about national security, although I did remember something of his
rivers of blood speech.

Powell’s
constituents had been expressing their concerns about the number of
Afro-Caribbean’s settling in their area. Kenya had announced repatriation of
its Asian population, and most, because they held British passports, were expected
to settle in Britain. Powell speculated that at the current rate of
immigration, Britain would have accepted seven million coloured immigrants by
the year two thousand, plus the offspring of a generation. He prophesied that
coloured ghettos would inevitably spring up, leaving the white population as a
minority in some areas, unless immigration was halted immediately and
repatriation begun. After his speech he’d been branded a racist, and Edward
Heath, the Tory leader, sacked him from his position as shadow defence
minister.

I knew nothing
of Powell’s involvement in cold war politics, perhaps he’d made a speech about
Soviet expansionism, as a shadow defence secretary it was quite possible he had, but if such a speech had ever been made I was unaware of it.

Vladimir
appeared to be concerned that if Powell became powerful, within a future
conservative government, perhaps the next leader of the party, or a future
prime minister (2), it could be
detrimental to the Soviet Union’s expansionist plans, which were going full
steam ahead with the invasion of Czechoslovakia to depose the liberal regime
of Alexander Dubcek.

I didn’t like
the direction this conversation was taking, and wondered what all this
political rhetoric was leading up to. I didn’t have long to wait to find out.

“We need operatives, friends to help us
achieve our aims.”

“Are you talking
about me?”

“Yes of course,”
answered Vladimir, as if it should have been obvious to me from the very
beginning.

“I work in a
factory making light bulbs and components for radio and television sets. What
possible use could I be to the Soviet Union?”

“You would be
surprised how valuable you could be. What is more you would be well rewarded
for your services.”

“I would never
sell out my country,” I responded patriotically,
but Vladimir wasn’t finished.

“If a third
world war were to occur between the Americans and the Soviet Union, it would
not be fought in either of our countries; Europe would become the battleground,
and the prize. Better a peaceful annexing of Europe than its annihilation,
don’t you think? You would be helping to save the European people from
destruction, not betraying them; they would become Soviet citizens instead of
casualties of war. Think carefully about what I have said, we will talk again
on the subject soon.”

The bar had
filled, unnoticed, while we’d been talking. Two Gypsy women in traditional
peasant dress, who looked to be mother and daughter, were pedalling their
wares. The older woman was selling roses and telling fortunes, while the
younger one sold trinkets from a peddler’s tray held by a leather strap around
her neck. She wore a long black skirt, which brushed the floor as she moved,
and around her waist she wore a white apron tied with a large bow at the back.
Above the skirt she wore a white blouse with puff sleeves, which was heavily
embroidered around the neck with flowers, as was the apron and the hem of her
skirt.

She glanced at Vladimir as if for his
approval, but when he didn’t react she turned her attentions towards me.

“Zijn jullie Russisch?” she asked.

“She would like
to know if you are Russian,” Vladimir translated.

She must have
known who Vladimir was, and it was obvious, from her body language, that she
was wary of him, otherwise why would she seek his approval, and then assume
that I was Russian.

“English,” I
answered, and then as an afterthought I translated. “Engels, one of the few words I’d learned during my short stay.”

She leant
forward to display the necklace, lifting the pendant with her fingers and
holding it close to my face. At first glance I thought it to be a flying swan
cast in a base metal, although on closer examination it turned out to be a
winged penis complete with testicles. It took me a considerable amount of time
to concentrate on the pendant, as I had a clear view down her blouse as she
bent forward. I found myself transfixed by her nipples, which were dark, and
even darker than her olive skin.

“I don’t have a
sweetheart,” I protested, after regaining my composure.

“You buy one for
yourself?” she insisted, unwilling to take no for an answer.

“No thank you.”

She glanced at
Vladimir, and when he showed not the slightest interest in the transaction she
continued with her sales pitch.

“Fucking
scissors?” she announced, which took me very much by surprise, as I was unused
to hearing a woman swear.

She produced a
pair of painted wooden scissors from her tray; they were about ten inches long,
with a naked woman, sporting huge breasts, attached to one of the blades, while
a naked man with an enormous erect penis, almost as big as himself, was
attached to the other. As she squeezed the handles the two naked bodies came
together, and the huge penis disappeared from view, before reappearing as she
operated the scissor action. I politely declined her offer, and she moved away
muttering and cursing under her breath.

I looked at my
watch; it was after eleven. “I think I’ll call it a night and go back to my
hotel,” I announced, still feeling uncomfortable in the presence of Vladimir. “I have to catch a train in the morning.”

“You don’t
really want to stay at a hotel?” said Vladimir, phrasing his comment more like
an instruction than a question, before adding, “so impersonal, don’t you think?
Why don’t you stay at my home? I have a nice big bed, big enough for the two of
us, and I can cook us breakfast in the morning.”

Suddenly the
penny dropped, a man twice my age with dyed hair, who becomes annoyed because
his companion is receiving attention from a bar girl. He wasn’t annoyed because
she was hustling drinks; he was annoyed because she was flirting and he was
jealous.

“I think you’re
barking up the wrong tree,” I told him. “In fact you aren’t even in the right
forest.”

“I am so sorry if I misinterpreted the
signals,” apologised Vladimir.

I didn’t know what signals I was sending out,
I didn’t even know that I was sending out signals, but whatever I was doing, if
this was the consequence, I must remember to stop doing it.

“I hope you are not
offended and we can still be friends.” He held out his hand to shake, and I took
it out of politeness.

“You will
accompany me to another bar where I know I can find what I am looking for?”
said Vladimir, ending with the word “please,” as if it were an afterthought.

I wasn’t sure if
his statement was a request or an order, as Vladimir’s requests often appeared more
like orders, but I decided to go along with him to avoid any unpleasantness.

Vladimir
introduced me to a very different type of establishment . The room was long and narrow, barely wide enough to walk around the elliptical
bar counter, which sat in the centre of the room like an island in a sea of
chattering people. Loud music blared out, almost drowning out the noise of the chatter,
which to my uninitiated ear sounded like the stirring music I’d heard played in
the newsreels at Hitler rallies.

A couple behind
the bar counter were dancing a polka, from one end of the bar to the other, and
for the first time since my arrival in the city I was enjoying the atmosphere.

“This is not
what I expected,” I told Vladimir.

“It’s a Bavarian
bar, he informed me, but didn’t elaborate on its true purpose.

Soon after our arrival a skinny teenage boy,
with bleached blonde hair, came into the bar. He scanned the room as if looking
for someone. Spotting Vladimir he waved cheerily, and
approaching kissed him full on the lips to stake his claim, in case I had other
ideas.

“This is my
regular boy,” Vladimir explained, putting his arm around the shoulders of the
skinny youth.

I felt
uncomfortable witnessing the kissing and cuddling taking place between this
child, and a middle aged man with dyed hair and a face like an unmade bed, but
then I’d felt uncomfortable in Vladimir’s company for most of the evening. I
made the decision that two being company, and three being a crowd, I’d bid them
both goodnight and returned to the hotel.

Footnote

(1) In his first
speech to the Conservative Party conference, as Shadow Secretary of State for
Defence, Powell outlined a fresh defence policy, jettisoning what he saw as
outdated global military commitments. He stressed that Britain was a European
power, and should be in an alliance with Western European states against a
possible attack from the East. He defended Britain's nuclear weapons program, and argued that
with a weapon so catastrophic, it is possession and the right to use it which
count.

(2) Before becoming Shadow Defence Secretary, Powell had stood in the party
leadership election. He came a distant third, behind Edward Heath and Reginald Maudling, but undeterred
he stated that he’d left his visiting card, meaning
that he’d demonstrated himself to be a potential future leader.